Untangle Me

Chapter 1

Giada

I'm pushing through the busy sidewalks of New York City, my eyes on the ground and hood pulled low so it covers most of my face. Another nasty gust of wind slaps against me, making me pull my drenched jacket impossibly tighter around my middle.

It's raining cats and dogs. Of course, it is. Because the day wasn't bad enough. On top of everything, I thought it was a good idea to go to work in nothing but a flimsy dress and my jacket this morning.

To be fair, I couldn't have known the weather would do a 180 when the sun was shining so happily up until noon. Well, could have if I had checked the weather app but my brain was too scattered for that. It's one of my brain's favorite traits these days but today is worse than normal.

I finally push through the door of my destination, a cute little flower shop I discovered on my way home a few days ago. Its neon sign, a big letter V, sprang to my eyes so offensively I wonder how I could have missed it before. Oh well, might be new. Not that I would know.

The sweet scent of different flowers hits me like a truck but I'm too content to finally be inside to mind. I lower my hood and take a look around, knowing what to search for.

The shop is beautifully decorated, the flowers arranged neatly along the beige walls while warm light illuminates them from the top. A tall lady is standing behind the counter opposite the door. The shop doesn't seem to be busy which makes it easy for the elderly woman to direct all her attention toward me.

Only that she isn't coming any closer or offering her help. Instead, she's just staring at me, a smile frozen on her lips while her expression slowly falters. I stare back, scared she's having a heart attack or something from the way she's holding one hand over her chest. After a few tense seconds, I clear my throat.

"I'm sorry. Is this a bad time?" I ask, attempting a smile even though it feels foreign to the muscles on my face. God knows it's been a while since I last smiled.

The woman snaps out of her stupor, slowly shaking her head before pulling herself together. "No, of course not. Pardon me, you just reminded me of someone," she says, still searching my face as she comes closer. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Gladioli," I tell her, already fighting back the lump in my throat. God, I'm pathetic. Eight months since I lost my father in that car accident and I still feel that unbearable weight clawing at my chest each time I think of him.

If the saleswoman notices my shift in emotion, she doesn't let it show. Instead, she nods absently and walks through a door behind the counter, leaving me to occupy myself. The woman's gone for a suspiciously long time but just when I'm about to conclude that she doesn't have my order, she comes back.

"Here you go. Just tell me which ones you prefer and I'll finish wrapping them up," she says. I don't need to think about it before I tell her to take the white ones. They were my father's favorites and the ones I watched him pick out for my mother's grave a million times. Well, not her grave since that is in Italy but rather the little monument we set up for her in our backyard.

I pay the lady for my flowers but she hesitates before handing them to me, glancing at the clock next to the door. An uncomfortable feeling twists my gut, the paranoia I've been suffering from since the accident, but I push it down.

"Is something wrong?" I ask the saleswoman as I carefully take the flowers from her hands. She's staring at me again, the wrinkles on her skin deepening as she furrows her eyebrows. It takes too long for her to answer and when she does, her voice is nothing above a whisper.

"Giada?"

My heart jumps in my throat and I take a staggering step back.

"How do you know my name?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even despite the nausea that rips through me in waves. That name. The name I haven't told anyone in months. The name that only ever sprouts confusion.